Five Times George Decided to Become a Psychiatrist
by Bucken-Berry
Summary: Five possible 'origin stories' for George Huang. Rated for violence and rape that occurs in two of the stories.


Disclaimer: don't own

Author's note: We still don't know why Huang became a psychiatrist. We just know he's interested in the criminal mind, he has a sister and was raised in a traditional household, he's gay, and he needs glasses/contacts. Not a lot to go on- so I am writing five possible explanations! These don't run together, by the way. Some will be happy and cute, some will probably make you cry. You've been warned!

Five times George Huang decided to become a psychiatrist

When George was ten years old, he followed his older sister like a shadow. For her part, Sarah very rarely lost her temper with him, and she often let him stay up later than he should be allowed on nights she had to baby-sit him.

On one of those nights, when their parents were at a party and Sarah was left to baby-sit George, Sarah ordered George to bed much earlier than usual.

"Why do I gotta go to bed now?" George whined.

"Because I want to watch a movie and it's too scary for you. You'll get nightmares!" Sarah replied.

"I'm not a baby! I don't even get nightmares anymore!" George boasted.

"Even is that was the case- which I know it's not, because you borrowed my teddy bear the other night and you only do that when you get nightmares- you still wouldn't understand it."

"Then what would be bad about me watching it?" George pressed.

"I don't want to have to pause the movie every five minutes and explain what's happening!" Sarah exclaimed.

"Please, can I stay up with you? I'll give you my allowance next week. Please?" George begged.

"Oh, all right," Sarah gave in with a dramatic sigh. "But you have to make the popcorn and bring it out here."

"Ok!" George said cheerfully. He walked out of the room and put the popcorn in the microwave, waiting impatiently for it to be ready. Finally he took the bag back in the living room and sat next to Sarah.

"So what's this movie called?" George asked.

"It's called The Silence Of The Lambs," Sarah replied.

"What's it about?"

"An FBI agent who has to find a cannibal," Sarah said simply.

"What's a cannibal?"

"Someone who... eats other people," Sarah answered.

"Why would someone do that?" George's face was lit with curiosity.

"I don't know."

"Is there a way to find out?" Sarah smiled in spite of herself.

"If you study psychology in school. Now hush, the movie's starting."

George stayed remarkably quiet throughout the movie. He only asked questions at the most confusing parts of the movie. Sarah was sure it was because he wanted to be the one to figure out the answers. Her younger brother already had proven himself as someone who wanted to find out about as much as possible.

As the credits started to roll, Sarah yawned and stood up. "Ok, George, you need to go to bed now."

"Can I ask you one more question?"

"Fine." Sarah answered reluctantly. She knew that if she didn't, George would badger her constantly over the next few days.

"The lady in the movie? The one who tries to understand the guy's brain?" Sarah nodded, prompting him to continue.

"Are there people like her in real life?"

"There are people who work for the FBI and try to understand criminals."

"What are they called? And do they do what she said in the movie?" Sarah shook her head in amusement. So much for 'one question'.

"They're called profilers. They study criminal's brains so that they can catch them."

"How can I get into that?" George asked. His eyes lit up as he spoke.

"For one thing, you need a college degree. And you need to pass a bunch of tests. Physical and academic, and you need to pass a lie detector test."

"I want to do that!" George declared. Sarah smiled.

"I'm sure you can. Prove it to me, ok? I want to be able to tell my friends I have an FBI agent for a brother."

"I will!" He assured her.

"Now go to bed, or else I'll be in trouble," Sarah ordered. George hugged her before walking to his bedroom to get ready for bed.

* * *

When George was in 8th grade, he loved being in the orchestra. He worked hard, and found himself being placed as first chair cellist. He also was allowed a solo at the upcoming performance for parents. He couldn't wait to practice each day. He skipped lunch often, staying alone in the soundproof music room to practice.

He sat down and tuned the instrument carefully before playing. He didn't hear the door opening, didn't know that he wasn't alone until a classmate he didn't get along with was in front of him.

"Hey George!" Chris greeted him cheerfully.

"Uh, hey Chris," George said awkwardly. "What do you want?"

"Is it true you're gay?" George blinked.

"Who told you?"

"You just did!" Chris sneered.

"Well, it doesn't matter." George stated shortly. He stood up and started packing his cello away.

"Actually, it does matter." Chris corrected him. He started walking closer to George. There was a look on his face that made George feel terrified.

"I'll be going now!" George said quickly. He grabbed his cello and and started to walk off.

"Not so fast!" Chris growled. He tackled George. George winced at the sound of his cello crashing to the floor, but he didn't have any more time to consider it. Chris sat on top of him and started tearing their clothes off.

"Wait- what are you doing?" George's voice cracked from fear. He tried to push Chris off, but his classmate was much larger than him. "Stop!"

Chris started punching him. He cried out in pain, but the room was soundproofed- no one would hear him. And there was still an hour left of lunch. He tried fighting back again, but it was no good. He stopped fighting, but he couldn't stop the tears of agony from rolling down his face when Chris turned him over.

An hour later, the orchestra teacher came into her room. Cold shock settled in her stomach at the sight that greeted her.

"George? George, please answer!" She yelled as she ran to her semi-conscious student. She could tell he was breathing, but he was bloodied and naked. She had no way of knowing if his injuries were serious. She immediately called for help before returning to George' side.

"George, what happened?" She asked. Unsure of what to do, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

"Raped," He choked out. The pain was clear in his voice.

"Help's on the way, ok?" She said softly. She managed to keep the shock out of her voice: instead she spoke calmly, and reassuringly.

George didn't think it was possible to feel more humiliated, but that was exactly what happened at the hospital. He was examined, swabbed, and dozens of other things. To make it worse, his parents were called. He was almost relieved when he was admitted for overnight observation; he didn't think he could face anyone he knew.

"Want to talk?" A gentle voice called from the doorway. George turned around to see a kind-looking woman standing in the doorway.

"I'm Amy. I'm a psychiatrist and I work with rape victims." She explained. George swallowed visibly.

"It's natural to feel ashamed," She stated. She sat in one of the chairs near the bed. "But you can tell me anything and I won't judge you."

She was true to her word. Over the next few hours, he explained what had happened and his conflicted feelings of mortification, fear, and pain. He also informed her that he wanted to understand what was going through Chris's head.

"Why don't you take a shot at figuring it out?" She requested kindly.

"He might have been trying to bring me down... or to bring himself up... maybe he felt threatened by me..." She nodded at each.

"Those are a few of the reasons people do that. You'd make a good criminal psychologist."

"There are people who do that all day? Why?" George asked.

"Because they want to know what criminals think." She said simply. George nodded.

"I want to know too."

* * *

George knew, as soon as he was old enough to speak, that he would be a doctor when he grew up. Not because he wanted to, but because his family was composed entirely of doctors and surgeons- though women also had the option of being housewives. It was an unspoken rule. He wasn't given a choice in the matter.

George didn't want to be a doctor. His parents fought with him over that, frequently, as he got closer to graduating high school. He got more and more annoyed, until, one day, as he was applying for colleges, an idea struck him. His parents hadn't said exactly what kind of doctor he had to be.

With that, he started researching the different kinds of doctors, trying to find one that was perfectly outlandish and sure to anger his parents. He looked them over carefully. Podiatrist? No. Feet grossed him out. Cosmetic surgeon? Tempting, but he didnt' want to cut people all day.

Forensic psychiatrist? That was interesting. Psychiatrists were technically doctors, but he wouldn't be a 'physical' doctor. Perfect.

This would work, he decided. It would work perfectly.

As he researched more about forensic psychiatry, though, provoking his parents became the furthest thing from his mind. He was shocked to find how difficult and emotional psychiatry was. Once he researched sexual crimes, he was horrified. He had to make sure he did his part to stop that!

Thus, he made a decision. He would help put rapists in jail, while fulfilling his obligation to be a doctor.

* * *

He wasn't surprised by the heavy rain. In fact, it made him almost happy. Almost. He hadn't been, and wouldn't be, happy for a long time, but it felt fitting. A fitting tribute to his sister.

Sarah had just been walking to her dorm room. That was it. And then a serial rapist-murderer had found her. He'd cut and raped her, slit her throat, and then left. She had died alone, in agonizing pain, and then she'd been found hours later by a roommate.

His parents had had to identify her at the morgue. They'd been so shaken ever since. They had barely spoken, barely been able to do much of anything, ever since.

George wished he could have been there for his sister. Even if he couldn't have saved her, his sister at least wouldn't have been alone. The thought only added to his sadness: it was bad enough that his sister had died, even worse that she had died in pain, and worst of all that it had been alone. He shuddered every time he thought about what it must have been like to be Sarah in those moments. He would have given anything to change it.

But he couldn't change it. Instead, he sat numbly with his parents in the front pew at a church. A closed casket funeral, since no one wanted to see the cuts on Sarah's body. George felt angry at that- she'd had to feel those curs, but they wouldn't even acknowledge their existence. They just hid them- like it changed something. Like it fixed what had happened to Sarah.

He didn't register a word the priest was saying. He just watched, feeling like he was in a nightmare, wishing he would wake up and go to Sarah's room to find her there. She would have made him forget about it in a flash. The thought made his depression even worse, which he'd thought couldn't happen, but he couldn't even work up the energy to cry. He had done that so much already, he couldn't anymore. He wished he could- each tear had felt like a tribute to Sarah, and he wanted to continue it.

He blinked and noticed the crowd standing and walking outside. He mimicked their actions, feeling strangely detached. He wondered how something real could feel further from reality than his worst nightmares had.

As he watched the casket being put in the ground, he made a vow to himself. He was going to find out why someone would want to do such terrible things to people, and he was going to do whatever he could to stop them. He would try to fix them, but if that didn't work, he was going to help put them in jail.

* * *

George had always been close to his uncle Steven. As a young child, he'd loved sitting on his lap and listening to him talk.

As he got older, he'd come to the conclusion that he wanted to be just like his uncle. Steven was always calm, he was smart, he was kind and compassionate. He was everything George thought a person should be.

One day, he asked Steven what he did for a career.

"I'm a forensic psychiatrist." He replied.

"What's that?" George questioned.

"Someone who studies how bad guys think." Steven clarified.

"Why?"

"Why what?" Though it was a question, George also knew he was being reminded to ask proper questions. Another thing he liked about Steven- he valued precision.

"Why do you study bad guys?" George amended.

"Because if I know how they think, I can help the police officers catch them." Steven said simply.

"How does knowing how they think help the police?"

"Because if, for example, we suspected someone who acted like a schizophrenic, we'd know not to suspect a healthy person." George frowned at the statement.

"I don't really understand."

"You will one day." Steven assured him.

Years later, as George matured, he did, in face, begin to understand how and why forensic psychiatry worked. He borrowed his uncle's books often, and asked Steven questions about what he didn't understand.

He finally understood the basics by the time went to college, and he fully intended to be as successful as his uncle Steven had been.

-end-


End file.
